


Beyond the Crown

by dayindisguise



Series: A Different Throne [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Intimacy, King!Eames, M/M, Tudoresque!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayindisguise/pseuds/dayindisguise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Charles was far from the sonnet-writing Eames, but the softened glint in the Monarch's eyes when he looked at Arthur spoke volumes of his longing and desire. The man who stood before Arthur now, draped loosely in his bedclothes, was the man he pictured as he laid in bed and read through inked words on embossed pages. This was his Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redluna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redluna/gifts).



> Inspired by The Tudors. 
> 
> Dedicated to the darling [Tessa](redxluna.tumblr.com).   
> You have been waiting ages, and I don't feel as if this will satisfy you. 
> 
> I believe more parts may come of this, if this first section is received well.   
> My apologies in advance for the lack of sex.
> 
> ALSO kudos and love to my dear thorsvarme for being a lovely beta.

_"Tonight, the wait is over."_

Arthur Bennett held the parchment between his fingers and read the inked words, fighting the smile from his face as he nodded to the messenger before him. No words left his lips as he waved the messenger off and tucked the slip of paper into the wooden box with his other letters. They weren't plentiful, but the words lining their pages kept him company since he had last been at court.

The wait would be over once the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, when a young man would knock sharply at his door and lead him down a winding hallway. He would meet the King in his bedchamber after the Queen had finished her prayers and sought her empty bed. She was unaware that her husband would be worshipping the curves of another’s body, tasting the salt on another's skin. Arthur already felt the heat in his cheeks, spreading through his body, his chest, to his fingertips and toes. 

~

Dressed in his bedclothes when the messenger came to call, Arthur was prepared for the walk through the dark and empty hallways of the castle to seek out the King's bedchamber for the first time. His body burned, nerves alight; he was overwhelmed with the thoughts of what tonight could bring him. Unlike his sister, he had no idea what King Charles expected of him. 

All of the letters they shared were signed informally, for reasons of secrecy and intimacy. His Majesty became ‘Eames’ to the young man, simply Eames, and the formalities Arthur extended in public would be frowned upon when he was finally alone with the King; a man who wished not to be treated as one anointed and divinely blessed. Six months of letters exchanged, of jewels and finery presented to the younger man in hand-carved, ornate boxes. Six months of poetry and delicious prose promising nights that would forever haunt his dreams. Promises that would finally be fulfilled tonight.

The sound of bare feet moving against the hard floor came to a stop as Arthur’s guide knocked on a heavy wooden door and was granted entrance. His hands were clammy, trembling with nerves and excitement. The only times he had seen Eames in person had been when his father, the Earl of Wiltshire, presented his family to the King.

King Charles was far from the sonnet-writing Eames, but the softened glint in the Monarch's eyes when he looked at Arthur spoke volumes of his longing and desire. The man who stood before Arthur now, draped loosely in his bedclothes, was the man he pictured as he laid in bed and read through inked words on embossed pages. This was his Eames.

"Leave us." The Monarch’s voice was strong and firm, commanding the men occupying his room to scatter after appropriate bows and words were spoken. Arthur kept his eyes lowered as his heart pounded in his chest, clammy hands clasped together behind him. He did not look up until thick fingers pressed against his chin, tilting his head up so brown eyes met with green. 

"Arthur," Eames' voice had taken on a different quality, soft and warm, inviting the other man to recognize him as less than King Charles, "You have kept me waiting."

"It was not my intention, your Majesty. Forgive me?" The words had rolled off of Arthur's tongue before he could stop them, and he watched the soft frown curl Eames' lips.

"Forgive you for keeping me waiting, always... Forgive you for mistaking me for someone else? I shan't be so kind."

Arthur's mouth hung open for a moment, struggling to find the appropriate words, to apologize for upsetting the man in front of him, but they were unneeded. A playful smirk had come to rest on Eames' plush lips, and thick fingers splayed over Arthur's cheek.

"I speak only in jest, darling... Surely, you recognize me now?" That same playful smirk remained on Eames' lips as he spoke, but the tone in his voice was too familiar. It was startling, how Eames’ writing could carry the teasing tone of his voice, but it was something Arthur felt himself relax into.

"Eames," The fond nickname brought a broad smile to the other man's lips, and this time, Eames did not reply with a cunning remark, but drew the younger man to him instead and met his parted lips in a tender kiss. The fire that had been radiating through Arthur's body burned brighter, threatening to engulf him entirely as a strong hand threaded thick fingers into the back of his hair, and the other rested at the small of his back. His arms hung limp for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. The movement was natural once Arthur gave himself over to the press of Eames' lips, his long fingers settled on the man’s broad chest.

"Forgive me for making _you_ wait," Eames spoke against Arthur's lips, refusing to distance himself from the man he had been craving. Two weeks, Eames had been waiting for the right moment. when he would have no one in his bedchamber that he could not order away His guards would spread no gossip about the thick and throaty moans that echoed from the King's bedchamber.

"Always," Arthur's response was a promise whispered into the kiss. His hands fisted the loose cloth covering Eames’ body, tugging slightly when he pressed their lips flush together again. The meek man that had entered the King's bedchamber was gone, replaced with the Arthur that had existed in his letters; he was demanding, eager, hungry for the man who promised him the world on a silver platter.

Enough time had been wasted with apologies between the two men. Arthur felt the moments of courtesy passing quickly as thick hands gripped the backs of his thighs. He was lifted into Eames’ arms with ease, legs wound around the thicker man’s waist as though they had practiced this a thousand times. The heat of Eames’ skin seeped through the thin cloth separating them, and Arthur almost felt naked in the man’s grasp. 

This was what he had been waiting for, to be taken into Eames’ arms and embraced, but not possessed. The arms that held him close were not confining, and the plush lips that met his again were not forceful or dominant; Eames was giving himself over to Arthur, allowing himself to be possessed and to be treated as an equal. The power of Arthur’s position was as intoxicating as the sweet taste of wine on Eames’ lips. 

The bed covers were soft against the back of Arthur’s neck and his skin where his shift had ridden up at the insistence of Eames’ hands. He was pressed down into the mattress eagerly and a hot mouth was soon at the underside of his jaw, worrying the skin with tongue and teeth. 

Arthur’s mind had drifted off somewhere between meeting the bed and Eames’ teeth leaving red marks on his skin, but he drew himself from the hazy state and stepped into the role he was promised. With a few swift movements, Eames found himself pressed into the bed covers with Arthur naked on top of him. His shift had been tossed off of the bed, finding courage in the man below him, in his Eames, to bare himself completely to someone for the first time. 

There was something different in the man below Arthur, something that had been missing in the first few moments of their encounter. A sense of supremacy had surrounded the King when Arthur entered the room, and now the fog was lifted before his eyes. Below him... this was his Eames. There was no difference between them, no divine interference save for the pleasure that would come in time. This was simply Eames, pressed into bed sheets, cheeks flushed and looking up at Arthur like he was heaven on earth.

“Your body is... unlike anything I have ever seen before. Such an honour, you bestow upon me.” Eames purred beneath him, hands to skim the subtle curve of Arthur’s hips, his thumb teasing the groove of his hip bones inward. 

“You should feel ultimately blessed.” Arthur retorted with ease, finding his snark and confidence in the reverence from the other man. The tables were turned, and now Arthur was seated upon a throne of his own; his throne was not golden-gilt, but solid and warm, far more forgiving than that of a King. 

Instead of a verbal response, Arthur was granted a searing kiss; it sucked the breath from his lungs and brought him forward over Eames’ body. He sunk down onto his stomach, resting his forearms against the man’s barely-covered chest. Thick, strong fingers threaded into his hair, guiding but not forcing him there; Eames was offering up his adoration, his affection and passion to the man above him, and was greeted with an outpouring of pent-up emotion from Arthur. 

“Tonight... You belong to me.” Arthur felt the words spoken against his lips in a breathy tone. Eames was reluctant to part from the kiss, to pull away from what he had been longing to taste and feel for months that dragged on and on. 

“No,” Arthur reprimanded firmly, lifting himself up and away from Eames’ body just long enough to shift and clasp his wrists firmly. He pressed the older man’s hands down into the bed, hovering a few inches over him and spoke slowly, “Tonight... _you_ belong to _me_.”


End file.
